Finally
by Eduarda D.S
Summary: Harry Potter, auror, is missing. Ron Weasley, a writer for the Daily Prophet, is covering the ongoing story of muggles being systematically killed all over Great Britain under suspicious circumstances. Hermione Weasley, deals with her husband's increasing involvement with a work partner while simultaneously dealing with what she believes is the first real snag in her marriage.
1. Chapter 1: Marriage

"Would you look at this?" Ronald Weasley straightened the folded sepia newspaper, dotted in moving images of witches and wizards. In bold, the front page read:

**TWO MUGGLES DEAD, **

**CULPRIT STILL AT LARGE**

He smiled to himself. His first front-page news article was on the front of the Daily Prophet, with a picture of both bodies of William Trevor and David Kertrich, covered in post-mortem sheets while an investigator gave an interview. 300,000 or so copies were being printed, all bearing Ronald Weasley's name on the cover. He grabbed a couple of more copies from the pile on his desk and stuffed them into his briefcase.

Ron had spent nearly two hours in Hackney, talking to magical eyewitnesses. He had been able to get an interview from Mr. Hunter, owner of a local convenience store and wizard. Mr. Hunter had been putting away the last shipment of the night when there came a bright green flash from the street. He told Ron that he ducked under his counter, feeling the overwhelming sensation that a killing spell had just been used. He used his hands animatedly to describe how he ran outside after he felt the coast was clear, and found the two bodies. Muggle coroners were to inspect the bodies, but aurors had already concluded on the scene that the two men were killed by magic.

"Have a good day, Meryl," said Ron as he locked his office and saw Meryl Cromwell doing the same next door.

"See you tomorrow, Weasley," she responded. Meryl was a twenty-four year old reporter who had impossibly long legs. Ron always looked at them when she walked away at the end of the day. He sighed. Heading to the common area, he turned on the spot in a single swirl before apparating home.

Grainy Place was a crooked and cobblestoned street lined with pretty single-family homes near the English countryside. It was charming, often advertised in the papers as _the _best place to raise a family while still being relatively close to London. All of the houses there were relatively simple. Most homes had taupe adobe siding, white trimmings, and red front doors. A hanging flowerpot here, a grumpy looking potato of a garden gnome there, but nothing out of the ordinary as far as décor goes. No, nothing about this neighborhood was weird although there was an incident or two of large owls flying in and out of the Weasley's kitchen window. Mrs. Weasley dismissed the intruders as curious admirers of her sugar cookies, which she often left on the kitchen table. The Weasley's kitchen window, painted a striking indigo blue, had lovely shutters that stayed open during the summer, so it made sense that critters eventually made their way indoors. But alas, the Weasley's were quiet residents of the neighborhood and never caused any sort of ruckus.

With a loud CLANK, pots and pans came crashing onto the floor from the cupboard above the sink. A pot dinged Hermione on the forehead.

"Ow!" she muttered, thoroughly annoyed. Hermione Weasley loved her darling husband, however she could not stand his stubbornness. _Don't forget to put the dishes away. Oh, and the pots and pans, but stack them neatly—Please. _Still frowning at the sore spot on her head, Hermione kneeled down on one knee to pick up the shiny kitchen set the two had received as a wedding gift. Hermione's part of the registry was filled with practical things that they would need to start a life together in their first home. Ron's choices of assorted gifts that he desired included a muggle television, a new Viper 7000 broom, and a clock reminiscent of the one in the Burrow. That last one, Hermione agreed with. Near the backyard door chimed a tall wooden clock, with the image of Ronald Weasley's grinning face moving to stand next to her small image. With a 'pop', a 6'2" ginger in jade green robes arrived next to the kitchen table.

"Hermione," he greeted, putting his briefcase on the table and opening it. He immediately noticed that Hermione was stacking the last pot back into the upper cupboard, which she could barely reach. "Uh oh."

"Look," Hermione abruptly pointed to the purple little bruise forming on her upper right hairline. Ron wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her head.

"Sorry. I'll do it properly next time," he promised, still holding her. "But did you see the Daily Prophet today?"

"No, why?"

Ron leaned over to the briefcase one more and pulled out a copy. He held it with both hands, pointing to the author.

"Ron! Congratulations!" she smiled while grabbing the paper and reading it.

"Are you proud, Mrs. Weasley," he playfully kissed both sides of her face gently. He grabbed her waist and easily picked her up, supporting her on his arm. Ron strolled into their sunken living room, walking down a step before gently placing her on the tan couch that faced the crackling fireplace. The flat screen television Ron so desperately wanted, hung above the mantle on a white brick wall. The living room was decorated in soft, earthy hues of tan and green. It was a comfortable and cozy room, surrounded by bookshelves that extended from floor to ceiling opposite one another.

"I was going to make pasta. You okay with that?" she put the paper on the small coffee table in the middle of the room, which doubled as a trunk.

"I can make it," he volunteered. He undid the top buttons of his robe, which suit him very well, and draped it over his arm. He walked away into their bedroom. "Just let me get changed first."

"Okay," Hermione agreed. She closed her eyes for a brief second, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace on the soles of her slippers. Without opening her eyes, she felt around the couch for the remote. To no avail, she dismissed her own little game of 'find the remote without looking' and turned on the local weather.

"A couple of bad freezes, but heavy snowfall is expect around Hampshire. As you can see here, upwards of an astounding 15 inches or more is to come," the blonde newscaster woman went on while pointing to several more cities in England. Ron came out of the bedroom door, which was to the right of the fireplace, messing with his hair. He wore red flannel pajama pants and a white cotton shirt. Hermione's cheeks burned. She smiled at him as he sat down next to her on the couch.

"What?"

"We'll be getting some snow tonight. It's supposed to be bad."

"Oh, I better put a protection spell over the roof," Ron recalled. The bad part about moving into an older cottage was that it was cold and drafty in the winter, and that the roof had caved in before under heavy snow. Ron was quite handy and usually fixed all sorts of problems around the house. _Quentum Casarum _kept the house cozy by insulating the house.

"Tetom Forticulum," whispered Ron, waving his wand towards the roof of the living room. A wave of orange light rose from the floor up the walls and pinched at the beams across the ceiling and walls. "Should be good to go now."

"What would I do without you?" Hermione said lovingly, kissing Ron's cheek.

"Probably freeze," he snickered. Hermione playfully hit his arm.


	2. Chapter 2: Assignment

Chapter Two

"Someone is using _Avada Kadavra_ on muggles to which he or she has no connections to," said auror Shane Billow in front of the Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and other ministry officials. The men and women in black robes, sitting high and far from the singular seat in the round gathering room, whispered feverously among their own groups. Shacklebolt remained eye contact with the auror, who in his mid-thirties looked more like he was near fifty years old due to his weathered face and white streaked hair.

"Were there any eyewitnesses to the crime?" came the booming voice of the minister, shutting everyone up.

"A Daily Prophet reporter spoke to one wizard who owns a muggle store across the street, Mr. Alexander Hunter. This man claimed he saw the green flash of a curse from inside his property," replied the auror.

"Any muggle eyewitnesses?"

"Oh, my apologies. Nothing else has been reported to the muggle police, sir," Billow said shakily.

"Very well. Anyone have any questions for Mr. Billow?" boomed the minister.

"How do we know that this isn't a muggle virus or something of the sort?"

Shane cleared his throat.

"The bodies were on their back, unharmed, completely void of trauma. Their test results from the muggle coroner proved that both men were ok health-wise. Nothing points to accidental, either."

"Thank you for stopping by Mr. Billow. I trust you will have more information on the suspect the next time we meet?"

"Yes, sir," the auror stood abruptly, before being dismissed out of the room.

Shacklebolt's official to the right of him leaned over to suggest Harry Potter be brought to investigate the case.

"While that is an excellent suggestion, I'm afraid Mr. Potter is… on assignment," the minister replied in a low voice. His hesitation led the official to instantly see that if the minister of magic did not know where the infamous Harry Potter, was, and then it had to be serious.

"Get over here," Ron growled softly, pulling a squealing Hermione to sit on his hips. He was lying on their oversized, cream-colored bed trying to tickle his wife around her torso. She squirmed atop of him, laughing and trying to move his hands away.

"Ron, stop!" Hermione pleaded, laughing aloud. Her hair, which had been messily wrapped into a bun atop her head, was slowly giving way. Ringlet by ringlet fell down her face.

"You're so beautiful," Ron commented as he stopped. She pressed both of her palms into his chest before leaning down to kiss him. Before she came back up, Ron had both hands on her cheeks and they kissed one another softly.

Ron had always been handsome to Hermione. From the moment she saw him on the train to Hogwarts her first year, she liked him. He was goofy, and annoying, and just the cutest boy to her. She hated him and liked him all at once, and for an 11-year-old, that basically translated into frustration. As they grew closer into best friends, she felt something deeper for him than she had before. It was not just a little girl's crush anymore. Hermione started noticing certain details about her best friend. When second year rolled around, Ron's voice changed. It was huskier and she liked how it sounded when he said her name. Third year came and Ron had grown half a foot taller, and she realized how much she wanted to be able to touch his hair without it being weird. Fourth year's ball gave her an inkling of elation when Ron had been so distressed about her being Krum's date. That night, she cried herself to sleep thinking of the lost opportunity to dance with Ron all night and be able to have him hold her waist and her hand. It was not until the seventh year when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were spending the night at 12 Grimmauld Place in London, when she fell such in love that she knew she could not come back from it.

"I'll take the floor, you two take the couches," Ron offered amidst the quiet.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry stared dejectedly at the worst-for-wear room at the Blacks' former home. The pillows were dusty and had to be hit several times against the farthest wall of the room. There were only two battered couches, with brown stuffing squeezing out through haggard holes here and there. The couches were perpendicular to one another, so Harry and Ron pushed the two together as best they could so that they could all sleep relatively close. It was all done in silence as they awkwardly prepared themselves for a much needed night of sleep. Hermione took out her bag and pulled out a couple of blankets for the three of them. She then pushed one of the couches out a bit so that Ron could sleep on the floor between Harry and her. About three layers of blankets were enough to make a somewhat cozy, makeshift cot on the floor. A musty old pillow was placed at the top.

"Thanks Hermione," Ron said softly, looking at her gratefully. She smiled at him.

When Harry hit the pillow on his own couch, he instantly fell asleep. Ron was drifting in and out of sleep in his uncomfortable, albeit warm bed. He looked up to see Harry snoring softly and looked over to Hermione to see if she was asleep. From the floor, Ron could see the gentle outline of her body in the dark. She faced the other direction from him. Her body trembled and he could hear a sniffle in the silence of the dark room.

"Hermione?" he whispered as he sat up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Huh?" she turned her head and shoulders his way, and then rubbed a telling tear from her cheek. "Are you okay?" she croaked in a small voice, curious.

"Am I okay?" he breathed, "Why are you crying?"

Hermione turned her body completely in his direction, tucking the blanket around her neatly into place before resting her head on her folded arm. The light from the moon that shone into the room bathed her slender face in a silver glow. Tears ran down from her eyes repeatedly.

"Ron, I'm scared," she admitted, closing her eyes briefly as if it hurt to say.

In all the time Ron had known Hermione, he had never seen her this way. It made his heart hurt. _'How could she look this beautiful even while crying?'_ he thought.

"I keep having this dream that we all get separated and awful things happen to us," she said in one breath before a hiccup. "If anything ever happened to us, to you…" she drifted off, wiping a heavy tear with her fingers as she looked up.

"Nothing is going to happen to us," Ron said firmly, placing his hand on her arm. "We're all going to be okay." He spoke to her with such quiet intensity that he almost believed what he was saying. In his heart, he knew he was just as scared as she was.

Her lower lip trembled before she wiped a few more tears away, this time with her sleeve.

"Okay?" Ron gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"Okay."

Ron got on both his knees, put both hands on the edge of the couch, and leaned gracefully over her and kissed her on the forehead. It was tender, warm, and as quickly as it happened, it was over. She never wanted to let that moment go. He made her feel completely safe in an instant. He assuaged her fears and made her heart beat normally again.

After pursing his lips, his cheeks were hot and his ears burned. He settled into his cot again, still facing her. Her hand reached down and grabbed his.

"I'll be right here," he said.


	3. Chapter 3: Wands

In the cold and damp hallway outside of Courtroom Ten, Kingsley Shacklebolt was walking towards the stairway on his way back to his office when a stern-faced woman in black and blue robes turned the corner. She walked towards him with purpose.

"Good afternoon minister," she gave him a forced a polite smile.

"Good afternoon, Severna. What is the matter?"

"He's missing," she said abruptly in a flat voice.

Shacklebolt had known that auror Harry Potter had been on assignment and that there were no news from him. Severna seeking him out to tell him that Potter was officially missing was worrisome.

"Where did Potter's last report come from?" asked Shacklebolt in a low, anxious tone. Severna Greene, Head Auror, pursed her lips and took a step toward him. Several officials that had attended the meeting were pouring out of the rounded doors.

"Harry Potter's last assignment was to round up some of the rebels in Glasgow," she replied quietly. Her eyes shifted uncomfortably to both sides, ensuring that no one was listening. "He last sent us a message by wand saying he had run into three of them. Potter did not sound like he was overwhelmed by the task."

Wand messaging was a relatively new technology being perfected by aurors. It was a way to get messages safely and directly to the ministry and ministry officials without the use of paper. The idea was that a wizard could speak a message into their wand then shoot the message by spell to the wand of the recipient. The message would temporarily engrain itself on the wand of the person of choice. It was still faulty in terms of the time it remained engrained on a wand, and multiple incoming messages to the same wand, but Harry Potter had been instructed to direct his messages to Severna Greene's wand and no one else's.

"Of course not. Potter is one of the best we have," Shacklebolt said gruffly, his thick accent rolled through each word.

"I agree completely, minister," she hesitated before continuing, "however his last message was three days ago."

"What is his report time protocol while on assignment?"

Severna's shoulders dropped and her face pinched in apparent worry.

"12 hours. 24 max," she replied.

After a silent moment, Shacklebolt waved his hand dismissively.

"I am sure there is nothing to be worried about. Potter is beyond capable of handling a couple of rowdy teenagers."

Ron kissed his wife's neck, inhaling her scent. He stood behind her with arms around her waist as she chopped up some vegetables for a stew. The water was on the boil, and they looked forward to a quiet afternoon indoors. Outside the kitchen window, snow had piled up high overnight. The snow had covered up the flowerpots and lawn gnomes, making the garden look like a glistening white blanket.

"What are you wearing to the party tonight?" Hermione asked, dropping cut potatoes, onions, and carrots into the boiling water.

"Those blue robes I wore to mom's birthday," he replied, walking over to the fridge.

"It's a Christmas party! Shouldn't you wear green or red?"

Ron sat the wooden table. He was still in his pajama bottoms and white t-shirt, sipping on a beer.

"It's still December 1st. I can wear blue," he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She added some spices and some starch to the pot, turned the heat down and put the lid over it. The timer on the windowsill was set to thirty minutes' time before she removed her apron.

"Alright, well, lunch will be ready in half an hour," she hung the yellow apron on the hook near the door and got herself a beer.

"I'm going to go look for something to wear tonight."

Their bedroom had cream carpeting, light tan walls, with a beautiful black and white drawing of Hogwarts above the king sized bed. The bed frame was made of a curved and polished mahogany tree trunk. It was a wedding gift from Neville Longbottom, who had fashioned it himself.

There was a large window to the left of the bed, and a bathroom door to the right. Their closet was magically concealed and had the same charm on it as Hermione's bottomless purse. Hermione stood in front of the portrait of their wedding day, crossed both hands and opened them to reveal a curved doorway into a seemingly small closet. As she walked in, it grew longer and longer until she stood in a spacious walk-in closet. The left side was Hermione's, and it was organized by color and season. Her shoes were lined up vertically near the corner, magically floating atop one another. They had the silver, glittery glow of a floating spell. Ron's side of the closet was not as organized, but it was neat and had robes with the Daily Prophet emblem, party robes, several pairs of pants, Quidditch jerseys, and other belongings.

Hermione ran her hands through her hanging dresses, looking for a relatively festive one that would match or go well with Ron's outfit. She ended up liking a black number. It was fitting and tapered off just above her knees. It was one of her favorites.

"Hermione?" called Ron from the living room.

"Yes?" Hermione called back while looking at her shoes to see which ones would go best with the dress.

"Did you find something?" he asked as he came into the bedroom. He leaned against the closet door.

She put the dress against her body and smiled.

"What do you think?"

Ron's face lit up. She knew he would love this dress. It was form fitting and showed off her best assets.

"Blimey, I don't know if I want anyone else seeing you in it," he smiled devilishly.

She blushed and put one hand on her hip.

"Ronald Weasley," she scrunched up her face in mock-disapproval, "To whom do I come home to every night?"

"To me."

The handsome redhead walked over to her, leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Before they ever dated, Hermione had never imaged that Ron would be such an amazing kisser. It was no wonder Lavender Brown could not keep her hands off of him back in the day. He always knew where to touch her to turn her into a mess. His hands went from grabbing her shoulders to gently running down her arms. She dropped the dress she was holding on the floor. Ron's fingers intertwined with hers, leaving her arms covered in goose bumps.

"I love you," he whispered against her mouth in between kisses. Hermione smiled, looking into his piercing dark blue eyes. He kissed her again with more intensity, backing her up against the back wall of the closet. His body pressed against her and with his large hands on her waist, he easily picked her up. Her legs wound around his hip, with hands wrapping around his neck. She could hear a low growl in the back of his throat.

Suddenly, Hermione heard something odd coming from outside the closet. She cocked her head to the side. Meanwhile, Ron took her action as an invitation to kiss her neck.

"Shh, Ron. Listen!" she hissed.

He stopped and stared at her with a confused expression.

"What?"

"What is that noise?"

"The timer?" he suggested.

"No."

Ron put her down. Ron adjusted his boxer shorts under his pajama bottoms and watched Hermione walk out in the direction of the living room. He followed her.

Upon going into the living room, she saw her wand lying on the coffee table in front of the living room, shaking and tapping the coffee table in the process. Ron stopped at her side.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, absolutely confused. This had never happened before."Something must be wrong with it." She grabbed the wand. The 10 1/2 inch cedar with unicorn hair was relatively new to her. She had gotten it after Snatchers stole her old one during the war in her seventh year. It was still quivering slightly in her hand, and as she turned it around to examine it, she saw a tiny scratch appearing near the handle. A tiny straight line formed, and then a perpendicular line formed. It kept going.

A tiny letter "H" had been written. Hermione turned to Ron in shock.


	4. Chapter 4: Party

Severna Greene was still in her office on Saturday at 8:45 pm, when everyone else had pretty much gone home. Papers were strewn everywhere on her desk, and her bin was overflowing with requests from different aurors. Some wanted time off while others had filed complaints. There were several requests for assignments like Dean Thomas' request to investigate the Egyptian Minister of Magic's involvement with several prisoners on location in Alexandria. Severna had the daunting task to respond to all of 46 of these types of requests by Monday and it was not just a "yes" or "no" deal. Full reports had to be delivered to Shacklebolt on approved requests.

Severna forsake the pile of papers for the night and focused on examining her wand. The twelve inch mahogany instrument had a blue rim around the bottom, and was polished often enough that it was smooth and shiny under her fingers. Every so often, aurors would touch base with her about their locations, but Harry Potter was not one of them. She held her breath a bit before every engraving, looking for the Potter's code "Albus" and his coordinates. She had been sitting at her desk for four long hours, constantly checking her wand for any signs that Potter might be alive.

"Come on," she whispered at the wand angrily, slamming it down on the desk before running her hands through her short black hair. Exasperated and tired, she decided that she should head home. She jumped a foot in the air when a rapping noise came from her window. Outside, perched on the snowy windowsill, was a tawny owl flecked with snowflakes, holding a letter.

Severna waved her hand and the latch on the window opened with a 'click'. The owl nudged the window open and flew in, landing on her desk. Severna opened the letter, and the small square read:

_**Muggle Massacre in 15 Gardner Way London, 6 dead. Killing Curse Used.**_

_**Signed,**_

_**Shane Billow**_

"Damn it!" she cursed aloud. She stared at the loopy letters for a few seconds, then gripped the paper so hard that it crumpled under her fingers. Then, without thinking, she twisted on the spot and spun into nothingness.

"Could you please button my dress?" Hermione asked her husband as she swept her hair up in her hands and turned her exposed back to him. The zipper ran all the way down her back.

"Do I have to?" Ron replied, eyeing her as if he had never seen her naked before. Hermione scoffed, making him chuckle as his oversized hands fumbled with the tiny zipper head. "This shit is hard!"

"It is _not_! You're being dramatic."

"Oh yeah, then why don't you do it?" he muttered, still working on pulling the zipper up. Hermione made a full 180-degree turn to just stare at him dumbfounded.

"Okay, okay!" he said, wide-eyed.

"It helps to pull the bottom of the dress down," she added in a frustrated tone, looking at the clock on her side of the bed. Luckily, he was already bathed and dressed, ready to go. Ron always took a few minutes longer than her, surprisingly. She rolled her eyes.

Ron's left hand slid over her behind, making her bend forward in the slightest. She held their dresser, looking impossibly sexy without even trying. He made one final attempt to pull up the damn zipper, and as it finny slid into place, he grunted softly.

"There," he whispered in her ear, encircling her waist from behind and pressing her ass onto his hips. "I love you in these shoes."

The Daily Prophet Christmas party was at their main office in Diagon Alley, which was perfect because Hermione wanted to stop at Ollivander's to have her wand looked at. After the war, Garrick Ollivander suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from being captured and tortured by Death Eaters. He only agreed to take a look at Hermione's wand because he happened to be organizing his store to possibly re-open it. That, and he had been wanting to repay her for helping take down the Dark Lord with anything he could do. It had been closed for a couple of years and a lot of loyal customers went to competitors for wands and wand repair.

Hermione and Ron walked together into the dusty shop. A little bell above the door ringed, signaling their entrance. The place was smaller than they remembered, especially to Ron. The shelves that once held thousands of handcrafted wands were lacking, and many bits of broken wands were in a pile on the counter. It looked like the place had not been touched since the war.

Ron cleared his throat. A rumble of what he only suspected could be boxes falling, came from the backroom.

"Who's there?" came a shaky voice from a white-haired old man peering around the leftmost bookshelf.

"It's Hermione and Ron, Garrick," Hermione spoke gently, but loud enough for him to hear across the room. Her voice barely traveled in the junk-filled room.

"Oh, it's you," Ollivander replied wearily, walking to them in a hunched manner. It was as if his back could not straighten up enough for him to be visible over the pile of wand bits on the counter. "Let me see it," he said. His eyes lit up as Hermione took out her wand from her cloak and handed it to him. Ollivander grasped it, and lifted it up towards his very weak light. He eyed it speculatively against the falling dust particles that scattered with every quick hand movement.

"You see, the reason we brought the wand over is because it started to tremble on the table by itself. A small "H" appeared on the side of it, but disappeared shortly after. I don't know if it's been hexed or—" Hermione rambled.

"Curious," the old man said. "I'll see what I can do."

"When can we pick it up?" Ron asked.

"Huh?'

"When. Can. We. Pick. It. Up?" he asked again, annunciating every syllable.

"Tomorrow, four o'clock in the afternoon," the old man chimed, already walking towards his back office.

"Okay. Bye." Ron said quietly. His tone was annoyed. Hermione sniffled.

"What?"

"His mind is going!" she verbalized. Hermione looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"C'mon," Ron pulled at her hand, leading her out of the gloomy store and towards the event of the night.

Garland and tiny twinkle lights were hung all around the Daily Prophet's general meeting room. A beautiful Christmas tree that was no less than twelve feet tall stood out in the corner of the room, with brightly colored gifts on the floor around it. The lights reflected off of the ornaments and shiny trinkets on the tree, giving it a glow that warmed up the room. Hot brandied cider hovered over the main table in a glass cauldron. The smell of mulled spices, turkey, sugar cookies, and various other hot dishes sweetened the air as lively music had some people dancing as they mingled.

The place was crowded. There were over 150 employees in the London office of the Daily Prophet and each one had been allowed two guests. Lots of people brought food and gifts for coworkers and bosses. It was Ron's second time attending the annual bash. After Hermione and Ron put away their cloaks, they decided to walk over to the food table. The two of them were getting a small plate of cheese and fruit when a silky voice rang right through the hum of the music.

"Ronald!"

Ron turned to face Meryl, who was making her way over through a talkative group of attendees. He smiled at his leggy coworker, whose smile was megawatt upon locking eyes on him. She wore a silver, skin-tight mini dress.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" she sang as kissed his cheek. Hermione turned to face the two like an alarm had just been pulled, and put her plate down.

"Same with you," he replied happily. Hermione forced her arm around Ron's and gave Meryl a phony smile.

"Hello. I'm Ronald's _wife_," she emphasized the last word. "And, you are?"

Ron pursed his lips and looked down incredulously at the woman next to him. Her last words were reminiscent of the first time he met his darling wife on the Hogwarts Express.

"This is Hermione," Ron said slowly as he turned to face Meryl once more. The blonde woman had a small nose, full pink lips, and eyes that were violet-blue. Her skin was tanned and it made her eyes stand out even more. She seemed genuinely pleased to meet Hermione.

"It's so lovely to meet you! I didn't know Ronald was married!"

Ron felt extremely lucky that he was in a public setting because at the moment, Hermione was mentally throwing hot, flaming daggers at him and it showed in her eyes.

"I'll see you two around," Meryl said as she waved to another Prophet employee behind them.

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me?" Hermione hissed. She yanked her arm out from under his.

"Hermione, please," Ron whispered. His eyes were wide and his ears were getting redder and redder. She walked away, leaving him feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable. He put down his untouched plate, and walked quickly behind her although she was already out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5: Meryl

Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. He stood there near the table hoping that everyone was too distracted to see him at the moment. With a sigh, he decided on going after her and explaining himself.

"Oh Ronald!" called Meryl from behind him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned warily, not wanting any more trouble. "I just found out that we are partners on the muggle killer case!" She smiled at him, beaming.

"That's…great," he said, forcing smile.

"Where's Herany?" she asked, smirking. A glint in her eyes made him feel uncomfortable.

"It's 'Hermione'," Ron quickly corrected her, feeling more and more annoyed.

"Well, it's quite the unique name isn't it?," she giggled then stopped upon seeing his stern face. Her tone instantly changed. "Listen, I didn't mean to offend you."

Ron nodded once and tried to walk, but she grabbed his arm.

"Wait!"

"Yes?" his eyebrows knit together. She came closer, unperturbed by her surroundings and the fact that people were starting to stare.

"Don't go. Dance with me, just one song?" Meryl purred and batted her eyelashes. "I know you want to." Her tone suggested that 'dancing' was not what she really wanted. Ron swallowed. It was hard to resist her when she talked like that. Ron mentally castigated himself for wanting to see more of her long legs, particularly around him. Half of his brain was busy thinking of her naked while the other half thought of Hermione. As if Meryl knew that his mind was on her, she moved her hand down his arm and into his hand. Ron jerked his hand away when the heat of her skin shocked him.

"No," he growled closed to her face. "Excuse me." Ron turned and walked quickly towards the hallway door.

Upon exiting the party room, he found Hermione at the end of the hallway, staring out the window. It was snowing outside, covering the rooftops of Diagon Alley's stores with a fresh blanket. He walked up behind her, reaching out to touch her forearm.

"Hi," he said meekly. She turned to face him with arms crossed, but did not speak. "Hermione, talk to me."

"How could you not tell her you're married?" Hermione asked, her eyes brimming with tears. Her voice was shaky and small. Ron sighed.

"She's new to the office and I don't know her enough to tell her I'm married."

"Doesn't she see you have a ring on?"

"I guess not because I wear it," he said, lifting his right hand to show a white gold band across his finger.

"You should've told her."

"I'm not making announcements everywhere I go, Hermione. Fuck!" he said, angry that he could not find a way to appease his wife. He got between her and the window.

"Don't you dare swear, Ronald Weasley. You know what the worst part of it all is? The fact that your eyes practically lit up when she kissed you!" she yelled. Her voice was breaking on the last phrase.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he pleaded softly. "I'm sorry, okay? Please!"

Hermione shook her head in contempt.

She had the glow of the streetlamps upon her beautiful brown eyes and bee-stung lips. Her cheeks flushed when he cupped her face with his large hands and forced her to look at him. "I love you and only you," he whispered, low and husky.

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, thinking of how much she loved this incredibly frustrating man. Just the thought of him falling for somebody else made her sick. One tear rolled down her cheek, before his lips pressed upon hers, fitting the curves of her mouth perfectly. They met like two magnets, breaths warm against the skin and hunger simmering in the depths of their bellies. He reached with one hand on her back and the other flew to her dainty neck, to bring her body even closer to his. All of the anger, frustration, and tension melted as they kissed fervently against the windowsill.

"Come with me," he whispered against her lips. He eyed her and led her to his office. Luckily, it was only a few doors away. With a wave of his hand, his door opened. The office was warm and inviting. It had a mahogany desk with a picture of Harry, Hermione, and Ron sitting next to a messy pile of papers.

He closed the door behind him and looked at her up and down, excited by the curve of her hips and the way her breathing had become ragged. Ron closed the gap between them and pushed Hermione up and onto his desk. Her legs swung around him. The two kissed, while her hands felt for and undid the button on his pants.

He groaned in the back of his throat, feeling himself get harder under her nimble touch. The frenzy of touching, removing articles of clothing, and the electric release of finally having that skin-to-skin contact was fogging up the window in the small room's door.

Ron had already hiked up her dress, feeling her thighs all the way up towards her smooth nether region. Hermione threw her head back when his middle and pointer finger hooked inside of her. Hermione's cries were echoing off of the walls. She was wet and vulnerable under his touch as he continued his unrelenting caress. Her elbows supported her on the desk and it pleased him to be able to see her chest rise and fall erratically. She was under his complete control and he was drunk off of that testosterone-driven power.

It was not until her hands grabbed at his back and her nails dug into his skin, that the wave of pleasure came for both. Ron had buried himself deep inside of her, and fucked her with her legs curled tightly around his waist. She held on to the edges of the desk before crashing against his chest at the glorious end. They both stuck to one another, sticky and hot, smiling like fools as he left her. She had smoothed her dress down and pulled on her panties when she saw what looked like a person eyeing them from the small window on the door.

"Ah!" Hermione let out a small scream.

"What is it?"

"Someone was watching us!" she squealed, whispering in fear. Ron finished buttoning his shirt and put on his blue cloak before opening the door and looking down the hall.

"Let's see," drawled one of his captors, "What shall we do with Harry Potter?"

Harry felt a jab of piercing hot pain jolt through his ribcage. "Aghh," he sputtered. His captors laughed at the blindfolded hero. He was tied up to some pipes that ran along the walls, crumpled in the corner. His wrists had cuts from the wire they tied him with, and often times his hands fell asleep to the point where they stung like fire ants were on them. Harry could not come to the decision between wanting the freezing nights in the cement basement or torturous days in the hands of rebels.

Harry had no wand. The rebels had taken it in an ambush in Glasgow. He did not know where he was now and his sense of time was off. Another spell came at him, this time knocking the wind out of his stomach. Harry coughed and wheezed, aching all over.

"Enough!" boomed an older voice, echoing off of the walls. "Leave us." Not being able to see made Harry even more aware of other senses, and this man's voice was an eerie shock to his system. He heard a pair of footsteps walking away from him, and he relished the small relief.

"Mr. Potter," purred a voice from the side of his face. Harry jumped in his skin, frightened by the sudden heat on his shoulder. "Do you know why you're here?"

"Let me go," he growled in reply. Adrenaline rushed through his ears.

"Now now," the man sneered. "You're very important to me. I can't just let you go."


	6. Chapter 6: Arguments

Ron and Hermione returned to the party. Hermione was still uneasy about what she was sure she saw through the window. Someone had been watching them. Her skin crawled from the discomfort of not knowing who did it and why. Ron filled his plate with food and poured himself some brandied cider. He had tried to arrange a plate for his wife but she declined and said she was not hungry. Some of Ron's co-workers had come up to talk to him about the muggle-killer case and the rebels in Glasgow. They talked animatedly about who was going to cover what.

Hermione stood nearby, quietly sipping on her cider as her eyes scanning the room. She went from person to person, mentally breaking down what she had seen through the foggy window. Hermione cursed under her breath. Ron was halfway through his plate of turkey and pudding when she shoved her cup into his hands.

"Wait here," she ordered. Before Ron could say anything, she was gone. She had walked straight through a group of party guests and had disappeared. He finally saw Hermione standing in front of a blonde in a tight silver dress.

"Shit," he cursed, immediately putting down his plate.

"May I speak to you in private?" Hermione said, trying hard not to punch Meryl in the face. She was standing in the doorway talking to a co-worker. The blonde coolly dismissed the be-speckled man who was doting on her every move. The two women stepped into the hallway.

"Yes, Herm- Her," Meryl stuttered, seemingly annoyed.

"Shut it," Hermione snapped. "Were you spying on Ron and I?"

"Why would you think that?" Meryl asked. The corners of her lips curled up menacingly as her violet eyes narrowed.

"Don't be absurd, you twit."

"You mean how you and Ron were having sex in his office? Of course, I saw," she rolled her eyes as she drawled. Meryl crossed her arms. "Maybe you should consider not having relations in a room with a window."

"You're disgusting," Hermione spat.

"_I'm_ disgusting?" Meryl said incredulously as she laughed.

Ron had just reached the two women when Hermione slapped Meryl across the face. The blonde dropped her drink and the glass shattered at her feet, spraying brandy everywhere. Meryl scoffed loudly. Ron grabbed Hermione's shoulder and pulled her back against him.

"How _dare _you?" the blonde woman growled, getting ready to hit back. Ron stepped between the two, facing Hermione. He put both hands on her shoulders and easily kept her in place.

"Stop! The both of you," he said, but it was as if he had not uttered a word.

"Maybe next time, you should mind your own business!" Hermione sneered, pointing at the blonde.

Meryl straightened her dress, and tucked her hair behind her right ear. She walked past the couple, smiling wickedly at Ron, and moving her hips when she felt his eyes on her legs.

Hermione pushed Ron hands away angrily. She had had enough for the night. Without waiting for Ron, she left with a 'pop', apparating home. He stared, dumbfounded at the empty hallway. His mouth hung open in shock as he tried to figure out exactly what he was feeling. When he finally appeared in his living room, Hermione was locked inside their bedroom. He really did not want to face any more drama that night so he knocked on the door, only to be greeted by silence. She was seething. Ron fell onto his couch, closing his eyes. He tried to relax but his body was too long for the loveseat for him to be comfortable, so he reached for the remote. The muggle news was on and a bold 'Breaking News' marquee rolled from right to left on the screen.

"A family of six has tragically been murdered in downtown London. This is the second case in a string of mysterious killings that the police has been investigating," said the news reporter standing in front of a row of townhouses. Many people walked in and out of the frame behind her, including a familiar face that made Ron sit up immediately. Head Auror Severna Greene was talking with an investigator, dressed in muggle clothing so that she blended in among all of the officials.

The next day, Hermione awoke at six in the morning. She rolled over, stretching and feeling the emptiness of the large bed with her hand. Her mind wandered to the night before. Although she was still upset, she thought of one of her favorite memories of him.

After the Second Wizarding War ended back in 1998, the wizarding world was focused on putting the pieces of their lives back together. Ron's family was mourning the death of his older brother, Fred. His twin brother was having a particularly difficult time with it all. He was moody, would not talk to anyone, and usually ended up yelling at anyone who pushed him to talk about his feelings. Charlie has suggested that he should come help him study dragons in Romania and Bulgaria and he agreed to go. After George left, all that was left of the Weasley children were Ron and Ginny.

Harry had been staying at Ron's because he had nowhere else to go and because the Weasley's insisted that he stay with them. He enjoyed his newfound peace though he still had nightmares about what he had gone through. Having Harry around was a bittersweet distraction for Molly and Arthur, who hugged him more than usual and asked him how he was doing often despite his reassurances that he was fine.

After undoing the memory spell on her parents, Hermione had spent a week with them before returning to the Burrow. She had spent the entire week dreaming of Ron's mouth and the way his kiss made her feel like the world could crumble around her and nothing else would matter but staying near him.

She arrived around 5:30 pm, with a single luggage in hand. Her heart was humming at the thought of seeing Ron. They had not yet talked about their first kiss, which she sincerely hoped was not out of pure panic and fear of their near imminent death. Ron opened the door, anxious to find the brunette at his doorstep.

All worry melted when he locked eyes on her, and she smiled at him. She dropped her luggage and jumped on him, hugging him around the neck as he swung her around. The Weasley clan looked at the two lovingly, trying to avoid intruding on their private moment. Molly was quick to put a plate for her as Ron motioned for her to come in.

The night went on quietly, with dinner and talks of plans for the summer. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley asked about Hermione's parents and she confirmed that they were okay. Ron and Hermione sat across from one another, exchanging shy glances and small smiles, both hearts fluttering. After dinner, Harry and Ginny played chess in the living room while Mrs. Weasley cleaned up. Ron's dad was in the living room, eyeing Harry around his daughter. Ginny was still his baby, after all. No one noticed that Ron and Hermione had quietly slipped up to his bedroom.

Ron's ears were red upon entering his room. He had never been alone with her in there before. The window was open and a warm breeze made the curtains billow back and forth. A multitude of brilliant stars lit up the summer sky.

He sat on the edge of his bed, and she followed suit. They awkwardly stared at the floor for a bit.

"I-I missed you," Ron broke the silence.

"Really?" she said, her voice an octave higher. She cleared her throat. "I missed you, too."

They laughed nervously at the newness of the moment. The boundaries between good friends and lovers were blurring with each passing second.

Their bodies turned to face one another while still sitting. Hermione bit her lip, feeling her heart accelerate under the stare of his blue eyes.

He bravely leaned in and kissed her gently before pulling back to gage her reaction. She blushed crimson and smiled. They kissed again, experimenting with intensity. Ron's hands fumbled with her blouse as his hands found the small of her back. All the while, Hermione had never felt more sure of herself. Everything felt right when they were together.

Hermione was leaning back, beckoning Ron to follow, still kissing and touching. She had her fingers in his hair, enjoying every electric sensation she was experiencing when the door to the room opened. Harry stepped into the room, and stopped in his tracks.

"Oh, uhh—I-I am so sorry," he stuttered. Ron and Hermione jumped up simultaneously with red faces and mussed up hair. Harry smiled awkwardly before walking to his opened luggage and getting some clean clothes.

Hermione stared around at the room she shared with her husband and smiled. She got up, brushed her teeth and put her hair into a neater bun, although this was never truly possible.

Hermione unlocked the door and expected to see Ron sleeping on the couch, but he was not there. She walked into the kitchen, thinking he would probably be making coffee, but he was nowhere to be found. Hermione then saw a note hanging on the bare refrigerator door. She read:

**Hermione,**

**That same wizard has killed another set of muggles. I had to report to work.**

**I'm sorry about last night. Meryl was out of line. I'll talk to her. **

**See you soon.**

**Love,**

**Ron**


	7. Chapter 7: Visits

Kingsley Shacklebolt was asleep when he heard the rapping of an owl's beak on glass. He stuffed his oversized feet into his blue slippers and sauntered over to his bedroom window. A white owl he recognized as Severna's pet, Poe, held a letter and turned its neck from side to side. He opened the window and picked up the letter, opening without hesitation despite his uneasy feeling.

**Minister,**

**A muggle family of six was slaughtered in downtown London. **

**Meet me at Six Gardner Way as soon as you can.**

**Best,**

**Severna Greene**

He put the parchment down on his bed, changed into his work clothes and quickly apparated to the specific location. The last townhouse on corner of Gardner and Lewis was dark amidst its lively neighborhood. The snow gave the home a strange appearance as icicles had formed on the roof's edges like sharp teeth. A single person stood in the pathway leading up to the front steps, partially concealed in the shadows of the neighbor's house.

"Severna," he greeted solemnly.

"Minister Shacklebolt," she said to him. They walked side by side up the icy steps and into the quiet building. Severna closed the door behind the minister. The click of the lock reverberated through the walls.

As soon as Shacklebolt turned to the right, a living room filled with children's toys stood completely still. The fire that used to crackle in the fireplace was out but smoke still curled up from the charred wood. He made a beeline to the bassinet in the corner of the room, where a toddler lay motionless with an expression of pain still twisting his tiny face.

Shacklebolt's hand shook as he reached for the toddler's eyes but before he could touch them, Severna cleared her throat, gently beckoning the minister to continue following her. It was clear that she had already made her round through the house. He gave the child one last pained look before proceeding into the kitchen, where a woman and a man lay crumpled and facedown on top of one another. Their hands looked as if they were gripping the floor.

"Mother and father to the children," Severna broke the silence, motioned to the two other kids lying on the floor near the backyard door. Their faces held expressions of fear, frozen and eyes like glass. The upstairs bedrooms only had one corpse lying still in her bed. The girl was about 15 and looked like she was resting while facing the wall.

The two officials decided on covering this incident up as carbon monoxide poisoning. They were worried about muggle police and investigators would start to notice people dropping dead left and right, so they charmed the home's heating system and left the scene untouched.

"Dispatch every top auror we have," uttered Shacklebolt as the pair stood in the home's hallway. Severna nodded once.

"Any news on Potter?" He asked with a twinge of hope.

"No."

"It's been 5 days. We need to tell his family," he stated. Severna pursed her lips and looked down. She was sure she heard a police car siren coming down the neighborhood.

Hermione signed the letter she had been writing to Harry, telling him how everything was going, including a bit about Ron's new and insufferable co-worker. She had written "harlot" and "tramp" so many times that she considered revising, but decided that Harry would probably get a good laugh out of it at the very least. She questioned him about not coming to visit in the past week, voicing her worries about him getting in over his head with work. She truly did miss her best friend.

The family owl, Bother, was appropriately named. He hopped from side to side on the windowsill; impatient to fly off with the letter he saw Hermione writing. Hermione still had Crookshanks, but these days, he preferred napping over anything else. At the moment, he was sprawled on the living room floor, taking in the sunlight that shone in through the window.

"Here you go, Bother, " Hermione said, suppressing a giggle as the bird finally calmed down enough for her to tie the letter to his foot. "Take this to Harry Potter." He cocked his head and flew out the window. Whenever Hermione or Ron sent out a letter in the daytime, they always charmed the letters to be invisible to muggles. It was weird enough they had owls flying in and out of their home, much less owls with scrolls at their feet.

She wondered where her husband was all morning, but could not decide whether she missed him or whether she was glad he was gone so that she could cool off. It was rare that he went into the office on a weekend, but she hoped that he would not forget her wand on the way home.

Hermione began pulling clothes out of the dryer. She enjoyed doing some things the muggle way, which annoyed Ron because he was so used to the instant gratification that came from using magic. She took the laundry basket to the bed, poured the clean clothing onto the bed, and sat down to begin folding when a knock came to the door.

"Minister Shacklebolt!" She greeted the dark-skinned man in purple and black robes standing at her doorstep. His expression was serious although he gave her a curt smile. "Is everything okay?" she asked slowly.

"May I come in?" His voice was tired. She motioned for him to step through the threshold and locked the door behind him.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked with her own throat suddenly dry. Countless thoughts flew through her mind about what could be wrong.

She nervously went to the fridge to pour the minister some water. He sat himself down when they reached the modest kitchen. He raised his hand slightly, declining.

"I am afraid that Harry Potter is missing."

"What?" Hermione replied, turning around mid-pour. Some of the water spilled on the floor.

"He was on assignment to track down a group of about forty displaced teenagers who were stripping wizards of their wands and causing quite a bit of a stir in Glasgow. Harry was told to send his coordinates out every twelve to twenty-four hours to Head Auror Severna Greene, but about five days ago, the coordinates stopped coming."

Hermione gave Kingsley a cup of water with hands so shaky that water kept spilling around her hands.

"Thank you."

"Y-you said he was sending coordinates? Can't you trace the letters?" Hermione said fiercely. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribcage.

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley, letters were not the mode of communication between Potter and Severna," he stated. His eyes were dark as he eyed her expression. She sat down slowly, with palms flat on the table.


	8. Chapter 8: Blackmail

Ron stepped out of the Daily Prophet's main office. He had gone in when he saw that more muggles had been killed, but instead of reporting to the site, he was told that Severna Greene and Minister Shacklebolt were taking care of the situation. He breathed in deeply and tried his best to clear his mind. He was in shock. It had not been the morning full of meetings that had him spinning.

He had endured an entire morning in a meeting with about ten writers and reporters, sitting next to none other than Meryl. He tried to focus on what his boss was saying, but she kept touching his leg. The first time felt like an accident, so he looked at her without thinking and caught her smiling at him. It had been on purpose. At one point, Meryl slid her hand up his thigh and squeezed the spot where his thigh met his hip. He jumped in his seat, his eyes wide.

"Mr. Weasley, do you have a problem?" asked his boss, turning everyone's attention to him.

"Uh, no," Ron replied. "Sorry." From the corner of his eye, he could see Meryl smirking.

"Stop it," he hissed at her under his breath. Despite his annoyance, Ron could feel blood rushing to his groin. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, tapping his foot. He just wanted to go home. Meryl walked her fingers on his knee again, pushing him to the brink. Ron slapped her hand away.

At the end of the meeting, he pulled her to the side when they both exited the meeting room. The Daily Prophet office quickly emptied. Everyone was eager to go home and enjoy what was left of his or her weekend. It was pointless, in Ron's opinion, since all of the writers had work to take home anyway. He looked over his shoulder, making sure everyone was out of sight, when he grabbed Meryl around the shoulders. The blonde woman stared hungrily at his mouth.

"Listen Meryl," he started in a low voice. "I am flattered that you think I am attractive, but I _cannot_ have you touching me like that."

"Touching you like what?" she cooed as she stepped into him. He instinctively dropped his arms.

"I'm married," he snapped.

"So?" Meryl pressed a hand onto his chest and looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

He froze for a bit, swallowing a lump that had formed in his chest. He grabbed her wrist and stepped back from her touch.

"I'm warning you," he said in a flat tone. She laughed out loud and held her hip with one hand.

"Are you threatening me, Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"May I remind you," she stepped forward again, tracing the line of his neck down to his arm, "that I am a witness to something that can easily get you kicked out of the Daily Prophet."

His eyes widened. He had not thought of the repercussions of his actions. Ron enjoyed his job. He had his own space and it was an interesting experience each day. He was also currently supporting Hermione, who was working on a proposal for the Ministry of Magic on the need for a department dedicated to ensuring the rights of house elves. She was certain that it would be a fruitful endeavor and it was something she was passionate about. They could not afford for him to lose his job right now.

"You wouldn't," he said confidently, gritting his teeth.

"Oh wouldn't I?" Meryl stood on her tiptoes to press her lips defiantly on his. She forced it, even pulling his lower lip back with her teeth before fixing his collar. As quickly as Meryl Caldwell had leaned in, she was walking away from him. She left him standing in the middle of the empty hallway with his mouth hanging open. With one last look over her, she waved goodbye.

"Tell your wife I say 'Hello'!"

Ron walked into Ollivander's, and even though he has said to come at three in the afternoon, he wondered if there was any news on Hermione's wand. That and he desperately needed a distraction from his thoughts.

"Hello there," Ron greeted a cleaning Ollivander. He wiped down the same spot on the counter. Ron cleared his throat when the old man did not look up.

"Uh, yes?" the old man said.

"Ehrm, good morning Mr. Ollivander. I was wondering if you found anything wrong with my wife's wand?"

"Last name?" Ollivander asked, already walking between his bookshelves. His old hands scanned down the thin boxes as if he already knew.

"Weasley."

Ollivander brought the blue box over to the counter, shaking his head like it was a dead animal rather than an object, and opened the top.

"This wand has no hexes, spells, or charms on it Mr. Weasel. "

"Weasley," Ron corrected him.

"Right!" Ollivander said, sticking on finger in the air. Ron felt uncomfortable. Maybe Hermione was right in saying that he was losing his mind.

"How much do I owe you?"

Ron handed him the 3 galleons and four sickles that Ollivander demanded and walked out of the store. The ringing of the bell on the door was drowned out by the sound of bustling shoppers in Diagon Alley. Blood was pounding painfully against his temples. He had napped for a bit on the couch but it was not comfortable enough to allow for a decent night's sleep. He had been at his desk prior to the meetings, reviewing incoming interviews and tracking down possible call-ins about suspicious activity. He wanted to be prepared for what he thought would be an early morning of on-site work. Alas, he was happy to finally get some rest to ease his mind. When he found a spot where a witch or wizard would not bump into him mid-move, on tucked the box under his arm, and apparated home

When Ron arrived in his living room, he found his wife sitting on the couch with her head in her hands. She looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying and his heart jumped up to lodge itself in his throat. He felt like the word 'cheater' was written in bold red letters across his forehead.

"Hermione?" he croaked, putting the wand on the coffee table. He sat next to her. His wife threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Ron rested his head on hers, hugging her tightly.

"Harry is missing," she said as she leaned back and looked into his eyes. Tears started rolling down her face once more.


	9. Chapter 9: Meetings

"Peter! William!" yelled Steven Pence, a wiry and beady-eyed man in his forties. He sat in a throne-like chair in the middle of a room that had puce and green wallpaper and the smell of old, soggy furniture. The place was cold and damp; with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves that had the faint glow of gossamer cobwebs stretched across its books. The thin man wore black robes that swept the floor at his feet upon standing. He stared down the two teenage boys that approached him.

Peter, a 15-year-old with a mop of curly brown hair looked down at his feet with fear. William was older, around 18-years-old and stood somewhat more confidently in front of their leader. Other teenagers gathered around the peripherals of the dusty muggle living room, murmuring to one another in fervent whispers.

"Well?" Pence drawled impatiently. The two young men looked at one another, quietly debating who should speak first.

"Mr. Pence, we uh, we killed the muggles," said William in a shaky voice. He gulped loudly, feeling the dryness of his throat inhibit him. A yellow bulb above them flickered, showcasing below the flurry of dust particles falling all around them.

"How many?"

"Ten, sir. Only eight have been found by aurors," Peter spoke up. Pence closed his eyes and pursed his lips. The man's knuckles whitened as he squeezed the wood around the arm of his chair.

"And the wands?" he snapped, opening his eyes enough to lock eyes with the William. Pence's brows knit together in annoyance.

"All of us have wands now," the 18-year-old explained, "And we are training the others day and night." William motioned to the teenagers around the room. Some nodded in agreement while others just stared blankly ahead. They ranged from 13-years-old to 19-years-old and were all dressed in muggle clothing.

"Is that so?" Pence muttered with a small smile turning up the left corner of his slit-like mouth. William and Peter nodded. Pence hesitated. "To reiterate myself for the hundredth time, this is only the _first_ step in cleansing of our society," he verbalized slowly. "By killing muggles strategically around England, we can make our statement clear. Aurors trace killing curses by wand ownership, however since the wands we use are not technically ours, there is no way to track down who did what. And besides, in keeping the aurors busy with the death of insignificant muggles, we can focus our strengths on our guest of honor." Every single pair of eyes was on him. Pence stood and started to pace.

"You see, I always imagined that children like yourselves," he motioned around the room, "would want to become part of something that will change the face of the wizarding world. I have been gracious and have given you the opportunity to take part of this revolution and yet," he yelled. He let out a heavy breath, bowing his head. "You _choose_ to not do your part!"

William and Peter both winced, avoiding eye contact with the irate man before them.

"To eliminate muggles is to have your kind prosper," Pence bellowed, walking around the room and looking at every young person up and down. Their eyes were glazed over in unique moments of contemplation. Pence played on their naivety, pulling the strings on the imaginations of the youth he had round up, one by one. He grabbed the face of a pensive 15-year-old around the cheeks, spooking her out of her trance. Her eyes widen and in turn, Pence smiled wickedly, relishing his power. "Squib," he hissed.

Ronald and Hermione Weasley sat across from Greene and Shacklebolt in courtroom ten. The room was empty otherwise, with the two government officials sitting up high above them. Greene looked like she had not slept for many nights in a row, with purple circles around her eyes. Shacklebolt's eyes were knit together as he skimmed his papers.

"Now," Greene said curtly. Her voice bounced off the magnificent black walls around them. Ron and Hermione both nodded. "We have requested your presence to inform you that Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas have requested to lead the search party for Harry Potter."

"Ehrm, Okay," Ron replied awkwardly. He wondered why Greened could not have just sent them a letter with the announcement.

Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Hermione pursed her lips, trying to keep from arguing her position that her husband and herself should be the ones looking for Harry.

"Have you any objections?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Minister, with all due respect," Hermione started with a shaky voice, "I think Ron and I should be searching for Harry.'

"We understand Mrs. Weasley but we must treat the situation with precaution and go through auror protocol. I have personally trained Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Thomas for this kind of problem," stated Greene. "I expect the two aurors will be arriving from their current assignments sometime tonight."

"What if we join them? They can lead the group but we can help," added Ron whilst turning to look at his wife. She squeezed his hand.

"I'm afraid we cannot endanger the lives of civilians. Potter knew of the dangers of working as an auror and I am sure he would disapprove of the two of you risking yourselves to find him," said Shacklebolt, shaking his head. He trusted the couple but he had to side with Severna. Shacklebolt was also quite new to being a minister and wanted to follow set protocol in light of past ministry scandals.

"So why call us here?" Hermione said begrudgingly, staring directly into Severna's cat-like eyes.

"We also wanted to ask you two whether anything unusual had happened to you in the past two weeks?" asked the minister as he leaned forward in his seat.

"Unusual…" Ron said aloud as he stared at the patterns on the courtroom's floor. His eyes glazed over and his mind immediately went to Meryl's threat and kiss. He snapped back when Hermione cleared her throat.

"Well, my wand started to shake a few days ago, completely on its own," she said. "And a letter appeared on it like an engraving."

"An 'H'," added Ron. Severna's eyes shot open and she turned to face a similarly shocked minister.


	10. Chapter 10: Comfort

A bitterly cold wind swept through the neighborhood of Grainy Place as the December sun set early over its rooftops. The snow sparkled on windowsills, shining against the light of lit hearths. The heat that emanated from the homes melted the snow into icicles. The picturesque winter night was enhanced only by the street's tranquility. It was a quiet night but every now and then, the howl of a dog or the screech of a far away car pierced the night.

Ron and Hermione apparated into their dark living room. Hermione was quiet after the meeting with the Head Auror and Minister of Magic. She immediately disappeared into the kitchen while he removed his cloak, throwing it over the back of the couch. Ron undid the buttons of his shirt and unbuckled his belt before collapsing onto the seat with a heavy sigh. It had been a tumultuous and worrisome past couple of days. His brain still hurt with the confusion of it all and he could not stop thinking of Harry. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The quiet and chilly house aided his drifting in and out of sleep.

Hermione sat next to him, startling him awake to see that she had made them some tea. He sipped on the drink as his wife conjured a fire that lit the room with the soft light of dancing orange flames. The logs popped and crackled. She set her mug down on the coffee table, pulled Ron's shirt open and rested her head on his bare chest. The skin under her cheek was warm. He wound his arm around her small frame and kissed the top of her head, knowing well that she too was worried and upset that there was nothing that they could do but wait. The guilt that bubbled and churned inside him made him feel ill and he was sure his wife felt the same way. Greene and Shacklebolt had forbidden them both from any attempts to search for Harry.

The couple had also been told that the "H" that appeared on Hermione's wand was likely a distress message sent by Harry. Severna Greene had explained the developing wand technology used between ministry officials to communicate without the threat that letters posed. Hermione had told Greene and Shacklebolt that they believed the wand to be hexed and so she had the wand looked at and found that nothing was wrong with it. There was no definitive way to confirm that the mysterious "H" had been sent by the missing auror, but Greene suspected that he had tried to message the two people he trusted the most.

Next to the couch where the couple rested, a sliver of the streetlamp's yellow light filtered in through the snowflake-stained window. It was one in the morning when Ron shook awake, sweating and gasping for air.

"Ron? Ron!" Hermione called, concern twisting her face.

"No!" her husband yelled before realizing that he had been dreaming. Hermione pushed back his hair, damp with sweat, from his forehead. Ron was pale and looked confused.

"It's okay," she whispered, pulling his head onto her shoulder. He sunk into her, breathing in her comforting scent as he squeezed her close. "What were you dreaming about?" Hermione asked even though she already knew the answer to the question. He shook his head, still buried in her hair, before he leaned back and sighed.

"Harry?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he replied in a husky voice. Ron kissed the back of her hands, trying to calm himself down from the nightmare. "There were green lights and he was chained up Merlin-knows-where…"

"It was just a dream," she assured him, although a wave of goosebumps rolled down her back and up her arms. Ron kissed her bottom lip gently, proceeding to cup her head with both hands, entangling his fingers in her wild, curly hair. He held her like she was breakable, kissing her lips while leaning into her. She moaned onto his full lips, pushing his long-sleeved maroon shirt down his arms. He broke the kiss only to pull up her sweater above her head, exposing her black bra. Their lips met with fervent urgency, both fueled by the desire to comfort and be comforted.

Ron watched her unhook her bra and cast it onto the coffee table. He felt a fire growing in his chest and down the center of his body. After both had removed remaining articles of clothing, Hermione hurriedly sank back into Ron, relishing the skin-to-skin contact that brought instantaneous consolation. Ron grabbed his wand from the coffee table and said "Accio quilt" under his breath. A blue quilt that had a large "W" stitched in the middle, a gift from his mother, floated into the living room from the bedroom. It draped itself upon the couch and Hermione tucked it around the both of them. The young couple touched foreheads and noses, breathing one another's warm breath with closed eyes.

Without losing that contact, his large hands easily grabbed her hips and she lifted herself with both hands on his chest. Her legs bent at the knees as he entered her. A long exhale escaped her lips the gentle rocking hit her at a perfect angle. Their lips met on and off as they made love to one another slowly, relishing every moment with throws of intertwined relief and heartache. Ron watched his wife above him, rocking onto him and against his grip on her buttocks.

With one hand Hermione was able to balance herself on him while the other hand held onto his shoulder. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face, over her chin and down her neck, disappearing between her heaving breasts. Upon climaxing, she crashed down onto her husband's chest, still shaking. She kissed his chest, tasting the saltiness of his sweat before they both fell asleep.

Morning came too quickly, with a line of yellow sunlight separating the sky from the earth at the horizon. Hermione's alarm clock, which served Ron a great deal on weekdays, rang noisily from their bedroom. He gently moved his wife onto the crook of the couch before sitting up. He was still naked from the night before. Worried about the chilliness of the house, he tucked the blanket around his sleeping partner before walking barefoot to the bedroom. The floor was cold.

After turning off the noisy device, he got ready for work in dark blue and black robes with a golden quill embroidered over his right chest. He thought he heard his alarm go back on as he walked out of the hidden closet, but it sounded like sirens blaring down his street. Out of curiosity, he stuck his head out his front door to see two police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck parked outside of the Scotts' house. He did not see flames or any sort of external disturbance from where he was, and although he wanted to look closer, he could not leave the house in his robes. He craned his neck and from behind the neighbor's car he saw the emergency personnel rushing inside the quiet house.


	11. Chapter 11: Hammer & Maps

Andrew Scott was draped over the stairs that faced the front door of the house. His face was twisted in a combination of both despair and confusion; frozen, as his limbs lay mangled over the slopes of each step. His work shirt was still open and his beer still clutched in a firm grasp, although its contents had spilled out. Yellow liquid had dripped from the sixth step downwards into a puddle at the bottom of the stairs.

In the hallway to the right of the gruesome scene lay Miranda Scott. She lay unceremoniously and faced down in a small puddle of her own blood. Her legs and arms were still in their midway movement, making it look like she had tried to run but fell forward. Her nose had broken on contact. Other than this injury, both Mr. and Mrs. Scott sustained no visible injury, which was consistent with the previous incidents.

"Bloody fuck," Severna cursed through gritted teeth as she pulled her hand from under Miranda Scott's face. Browning blood stained the Head Auror's hand and she wiped it on the inside of her robe. She looked at her pocket watch. The gold and off-white face read four in the morning. The witch stood next to the female body and felt the throb of another headache threatening to begin its unrelenting beat.

Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas arrived at the Ministry of Magic by way of floo powder. They came out of their respective fireplaces with diligence in their eyes, surrounded by green smoke. After them, wizard after wizard came through the portal in their work robes and briefcases. The government agency's hallway of black fireplaces was an intersection of constant fluidity and bustle. Everyone moved quickly but Shacklebolt stood calmly amongst the crowd. The man, robed in purple and gold, tipped his head in acknowledgment at the two aurors.

"Minister," greeted Dean, shaking the man's hand. Neville followed. The young aurors were the product of their careers; strong, lean, and gazes full of seriousness and precision. Neville stood taller than Dean, although Dean was more muscular. Dean's hair was cropped short while Neville's was wavy and disheveled. The two had worked together before and had complimentary abilities to one another, making for a usually successful pair. Dean was known for being a "hammer"; an auror whose talents lay in his physical ability, power, and resilience. Neville, on the other hand, was a "Map"; an auror with the ability to foresee errors and kinks in his opponent's actions and plans. Their dynamics made Neville and Dean top contenders for difficult assignments and Shacklebolt was confident that they could be of help.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," expressed Shacklebolt, he began to turn on his heel. He motioned for the two men to follow and they did so without comment. They entered together into an elevator occupied with both employees and flying memo airplanes. A thin bald man with gray hair mumbled a 'good morning' to Shacklebolt while others followed suit. It was ten in the morning and the morning rush was at its tail end.

"Have a seat," offered the minister, removing his cap as he sat down behind his desk. "Care for something to drink?" Without waiting for an answer, Shacklebolt waved his hand over the bare tabletop and three chalices appeared, self-filling with a golden liquid. Dean took his right away, gulping it down.

"Thank you sir," replied Neville. After a sip, he cleared his throat. "Is it true another muggle family has been killed?"

"Yes," the minister replied curtly, interlacing his fingers. "A couple on Grainy Place, just outside of London."

Neville's eyes widened. He gingerly placed his chalice back onto the black desk.

"S-sir, that's the street where the Weasley's live," he gulped. Minister Shacklebolt cocked his head to the side, caught offside by the new kernel of information. "Are they okay? They didn't see anything?" Neville's anxiety was palpable

"Do not worry, Mister Longbottom," the minister said cautiously as doubt colored his consoling. "I will have someone personally check on the couple and make sure that they are knowledgeable of the current situation. As for now, I would like to discuss the Potter case."

The minister of magic had a magnificent and regal office with black, curved furniture and dark purple and white gold design. It was a spacious affair; the desk was on a raised circle platform in the center of the room while a black bookshelf took up the entirety of the back wall. Many books moved in an out of the bookshelves as if they were charmed to organize themselves meticulously by date, relevance, and size. There were probably over 20,000 books that fiddled in and out of the breathtaking piece of furniture.

On the other side of the room was a mission control of sorts, where a plethora of plush purple seats in front of a whiteboard signified that members of the board were often invited to meet with the minister to discuss issues in the wizarding world. The whiteboard too seemed to be enchanted as the lines of letters scribbled comments in gold ink without an audience. This is where the three men gathered to discuss the details of the missing auror case.


	12. Chapter 12:GBWD

_ A Month Ago..._

"So what, we're just going to go in and-"

"You stupid fuck, how many times do I have to explain this?" hissed Will.

"Sod off," the younger man growled, annoyed. The two had their backs pressed against the damp brick wall of 1810 Darvon Street, known to muggles as a common office building in downtown London. The building's only oddity was that it stood detached from the line of other businesses on the street. Both of its sides had alleyways shrouded in shadow, conveniently masking the two teenagers that stood just outside.

Will turned, and dug his wand out from inside his jacket. He pressed the tip against the wall, and for several seconds, nothing happened. Will eyed the wall, grimy and full of old, blackened wads of gum and whatever else. From the epicenter of the wand's contact came a flowering blue wave. It glowed and appeared fluid, opening the wall and providing an entrance for the two men.

"Get in, Peter," William commanded in a monotone voice. Peter did not hesitate. He slipped through the glowing orb and only heard it close behind him when William stepped in. The wall looked as if nothing had happened to it.

Will moved ahead through the cubicle-filled hallway. Each pitiful office space had a bulbous Plexiglas sliding door and most of them were closed after a day's work. Peter followed his determined partner further into the building, the two ending up in a gray stairwell that smelled like cleaning product. They swiftly and quietly climbed up to the 7th floor whilst their steps echoed off of the walls. Will stopped suddenly at the space between the 7th and 8th floor. There hung a sign that read "No Smoking" next to a fire extinguisher, but nothing else. Will looked amused.

"Uhh, there's nothing here," Peter chimed in as Will, with wand still in hand, tapped the instrument in a formation against the wall. The ground beneath their feet rumbled and shook, and Will flashed a bewildered look at Peter. He shrugged in response. The cracking of the wall before them took their attention back, with paint-covered bricks swinging out and out in succession from its center.

Will began to laugh and his happiness bounced through the stairwell.

"An entrance!" Peter said gleefully. "You're bloody brilliant."

"I just listen to instructions. Something you've yet learned to do," Will said smugly, before proceeding into the newfound gray and black marbled hallway. The walkway was not terribly long and at its end was an oversized, ornate redwood door with a brass knocker that had a hinge shaped like a lion's mouth.

The door effortlessly swung open as Will pushed it in.

"Wow," he gasped. Peter could not do anything but gape. The room before them was so incredibly large that it could not possibly, not realistically fit in 1810 Darvon, not by any stretch of the imagination. However this was not the most amazing aspect of the place. Wands, every type of wand you could imagine, were floating in neat parallel lines. They were stacked and yet apart, covering from the floor up to the ceiling. The vertical blankets of wands were so thick that they divided the large room like small hallways.

"So this is the Great Britain Wand Depository," Peter muttered.

_Today..._

Reporter Ronald Weasley's office door was wide open. It was all he could do to make sure that his new work partner respected his personal boundaries. He tried to work with her in public as much as possible but the Daily Prophet was prone to being very loud between nine in the morning and five in the afternoon.

"Hackney was two, Gardner Way in London was six," Meryl tapped a long red fingernail against the points on a map. It was splayed over his desk, covering all of his belongings. "Oh and apparently, a couple on Grainy Place just outside of London, so it seems like whoever is doing this is not really sticking to the London area," she added.

"What did you say?" Ron snapped at the blonde seating at the opposite side of his desk. His ears turned red.

"Not sticking to London?"

"No, you idiot," he growled and she immediately smirked at his anger, leaning back and crossing her arms. "You said Grainy Place."

"Yes, so what?" she rolled her eyes at him, looking bored.

"That's my neighborhood," he quietly replied, running his fingers through his hair, his eyes bewildered. "I have to tell Hermione."

"Oh, please…" she exhaled, curling her fingers to examine the nail beds of her shiny talons.

Ron took a piece of parchment and a quill from under the heavy map. He set it to the side, and began to scribble his note.

"We're in the middle of a meeting," Meryl drawled with narrowed eyes. She was an impatient and insufferable woman. _And intimidating as hell_, Ron thought.

"I don't have time for this, Meryl. We can meet later."

She scowled, and stood, taking her time to saunter around his desk to idle next to him. Meryl traced the lapel of Ron's robes; the corner of her lip curling in delight of the way his shoulders tensed up under her touch. She firmly gripped his shoulder, feeling the muscular tone of his body beneath the bulky robe he was wearing. The leggy blonde proceeded to run her hands down his front as she stood behind his chair.

"Leave," he snapped, feeling all of the blood in his body pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Just remember what I said, Weasley," Meryl cooed into his ear before swaying out of his office. With a wave of his wand, Ron slammed the door shut.

_Hermione,_

_Andrew and Miranda were killed_

_by the same witch or wizard who's been_

_killing muggles in London. Please, don't run _

_any errands without me. I know you probably_

_won't listen to me, but just for today, okay? _

_I love you,_

_Your Ron_


	13. Chapter 13: Harry

Harry Potter blinked a few times in succession. The bridge of his nose ached from the hit; his glasses jamming into the bone. The warm trickle of blood that ran down his upper lip threatened to leak into his mouth, but he did not care. He felt bruised, exhausted, and most of all weak. With no sense of time, it was easy for the mind to become weary. He had visions of being deep underground, suffocating in the collapsing dirt around him among other gruesome scenarios of his imagination.

His hands throbbed constantly, with minimal blood reaching his uplifted hands. He was still chained to the same pipes along the wall. From time to time, a person would come in and give him scraps and water, showing him that he was being kept alive. Other times, menacing laughs only signified that he was about to be helplessly beaten. The last person, a man, had come in and asked him about some information on auror spells, a topic that Potter could not discuss, according to his job description. After refusing several times, getting called some colorful names, and being punched in the face, the curious man left.

This time, the man who had punched him, perhaps out of sheer frustration, did not close the door properly and it creaked open. A sliver of light, although small, burned Harry's eyes and simultaneously sparked a glint of hope in his heart. Harry leaned forward instinctively when he realized that he could hear the voices of his captors coming from outside his cell.

"…400 wands have been procured, distributed, and training has commenced, sir," Will said to Pence. Steven Pence was sitting lazily over his so-called throne, fiddling with his own wand with a bored expression stretched smugly over his bird-like face.

"And you made sure to leave no trace behind at the depository?"

"No, sir," Peter chimed in, "The cameras around the muggle building were erased, and the caretakers of the wand bank were pretty much oblivious to our actions."

"Good. I knew I could trust you William," Pence snapped. Peter looked visibly crestfallen. "Now, as for Potter…"

"Yes, sir?"

"The hero who saved the wizarding world from Lord Voldemort," he muttered under his breath, barely audible, "The man who loved a people enough to willingly sacrifice himself."

Will nodded supportively whilst Peter stared at Pence quietly. Pence stood up, walked over to an oak dining table that had been pushed against the opposite wall. A map of Great Britain was stretched over its surface. It was marked with several red X's and black circles.

"Potter completes the pentagram," he continued as he traced the spaces between the X's on the map.

Hermione placed her bags of groceries on the kitchen table. She went through the monotonous task of unloading the bags, taking out what needed to be stored in the refrigerator. Her afternoon had been spent attempting to add a couple of pages to her ongoing department proposal to the Ministry of Magic, but all she could do was think about Harry. Even as she filled her time with chores, her best friend weighed heavily on her mind.

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with excitement after the house team won a spectacular Quidditch game. While Harry and Hermione jumped up and down with everyone else, Ron stood in the middle of the circle of student, reveling in the stardom and adoration of his peers.

"Weasley is our king!" they rang, over and over, and the grin that reached Ron's eyes seemed to envelop him in complete and utter happiness. Hermione stared at the smiling redhead, who was wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscular arms. Her stomach did a flip and her cheeks burned achingly hot when he caught her gaze, and in that moment she felt like she was the bravest, most incredible witch in the room. Her mind was playing a made up scenario of him pushing through the crazy crowd, grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her. She was smiling goofily, when suddenly and as if in slow motion, Lavender Brown took Ron and pressed her lips onto his. His blue eyes widened, then he eased into the kiss as if he's kissed her forever. The room ripped into boisterous whooping and more cheering, but Hermione felt sick. She abruptly picked her jaw up off of the floor and slipped out of the room without being noticed by anyone but Harry.

"Hermione!" he called after her as she stepped out hurriedly through the painting that served as a door. But Hermione did not stop. Tears rolled hot down her face, which was pink with a rising mix of toxic emotions. She felt the sting of her first real heartbreak and it tore through like a serrated knife while her head reminded her that Ron was not hers to begin with so she could not feel this way. Using the back of her sleeve, she wiped her face and using another hand, supported her weight as she sat in a shrouded staircase. The moonlight drenched the landing before her in a faint silvery glow.

"Get a hold of yourself, Granger," she muttered, hiccupping slightly as she took out her wand. She decided on practicing her spells, conjuring a flock of canaries that chirped and flew in a circle near the ceiling. The tears continued to come down, and she was a bit startled when Harry sat quietly next to her. Hermione turned to face him.

"Hey."

"Hey," she croaked.

"Why are you crying?" he asked softly. Hermione put her wand down, the canaries disappearing in little puffs of smoke.

"It's nothing. I'm fine," she replied in a mock cheery tone colored in annoyance.

"No, you aren't."

"How could he do that, Harry? How could he kiss her like that?"

"Well, technically Lavender kissed him," Harry pointed out and could not help but laugh when Hermione smacked his arm.

"I know, but he just— and didn't, oh!"

"Listen, Hermione. I know you have feelings for Ron, It's obvious," he stated. She tensed up. "And he has feelings for you, too."

"No, he doesn't. He wouldn't have kissed her back. Oh, I feel so stupid!" Hermione grimaced.

"All I can tell you, Hermione, as your friend and his, is that you have to take it for what it is. Maybe this was just a silly kiss and nothing will come out of it."

She stared into his eyes, softening under his worried gaze, and proceeded to putting her head on his shoulder. She sniffled from time to time, but felt relieved and grateful that he had come to find her after all.


	14. Chapter 14: Pentagram

Steven ran around the house with a paper airplane, which just so happened to be his first Hogwarts letter. He whooped and jumped as he took his airplane on a harrowing journey. He had cropped blonde hair and intense blue eyes and twinkled with mischievous happiness. His twin brother Jason, on the other hand, sat quietly on the patterned maroon couch. His little hands clung to the edge of the seat as his eyes followed his brother's glee in a mix of envy and sadness.

"Where's my letter?" he had questioned his mother and father, but they had nothing to say to him except "Go with Steven."

"He's-He's a-But how?" Margaret Pence stammered. Her husband, John, wrapped his arm around her for support as she shrunk in size. They both stood in their tidy, black and white tiled kitchen.

"Margaret," whispered John lovingly, "This isn't our fault."

"But it feels like it is. What will we tell people?" she said with eyes rounded in fear, shame swelling in her chest. John grabbed her shoulders with both hands so that he could look firmly into her dark brown eyes.

"We don't. We tell them he got his letter. Nobody has to know," he turned to look over his shoulder at the brown haired 11-year-old on the couch, "that Jason is a squib."

Neville and Dean walked out of Kingsley Shacklebolt's office and headed straight to the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic. This wing of the ministry was difficult to access; the pair went through several identification stop points before reaching the round desk in the center of the lobby.

A woman with flaming red hair piled high on her head and almond shaped brown eyes greeted the two handsome men with an impish grin.

"Mindy, Mindy, Mindy," cooed a slick Dean Thomas as he bent over the desk to take a better look at the stunning ginger woman behind it. She rolled her eyes but could not suppress her smile, gathering papers and straightening them so as to ignore his flirtations. "Are you free on Saturday?"

She threw a glance at him and then cleared her throat.

"How many I help the two of you?"

"We need to see Greene, is she in?" Neville asked.

"No, I'm afraid she is out of her office.

"Did she leave our assignments behind?" he added. The secretary checked around her desk for any floating memos, or manila envelope while shaking her head.

"Dammit," cursed Neville, frustrated with the lack of direction and sense of duty.

"I guess we'll hang around then?" Dean quipped, winking at Mindy while turning on his heel to walk alongside his partner. "Hey! Where you off to?"

"I'll be back. There's something I have to do," Neville said confidently, staring forward and walking a tad bit faster than Thomas on his long legs. They walked down the corridor that led to the elevators.

"Well, do you mind letting me in a bit?"

"Just stay here," Longbottom replied. He simply turned on the spot, faced his partner and nodded at him, before spinning into himself and into nothingness.

The auror popped under the sparkling shade of ice-covered tree. Frozen snow crunched under his feet and a biter cold wind immediately pierced his cloak. He walked up the backyard's path that led to a wooden door, which opened before he even had a chance to knock.

"Hermione!" he greeted with a smile. The brunette in front of him had her curly hair in a messy low bun, and her eyes had dark circles forming beneath them. She quickly embraced him in a warm hug that melted the cold skin beneath his clothing.

"It's so good to see you, Neville! Please come in," she said, pulling gently at his arm. He stepped through the threshold and exhaled happily. The home, so neatly made and set up, had the quiet crackle of a fire and the comforting scent of baked banana bread wafting through the air. "May I take your cloak?"

"Er, yes," he answered, removing the heavy article of clothing and handing it to her. She put it up behind the front door on a knob. She then turned to him once more, admiring her friend.

"How long has it been?" Hermione said softly. She had never noticed how handsome Neville was. Years of auror work had changed him since she last saw him at her wedding. His featured had sharpened and a 5 o'clock shadow brought attention to his strong jawline.

"Too long, I'm thinking," he muttered as he blushed, following Hermione into the kitchen. He sat at the table and watched as she filled a kettle with water and turned on the stove. She then took out a covered metal tin out of the oven. "Anyway, I'm sorry to barge in like this, no announcement, but I really needed to see that you and Ron were okay. Where is he, by the way?"

"Work," she said, setting down a plate of neatly sliced, warm banana bread on the table along with a teacup with chamomile tea. "Is everything okay?" Worry colored her face. She sat across from him.

"That's what I wanted to know from you."

"Have you heard about Harry?" she asked, her voice small and he nodded as he leaned forward in his chair towards her.

"Listen, I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to tell you anything."

"But you're here, Neville. You have to tell me what you know, please," she said nervously, eyeing the regret that flashed across her friend's face. She did not want him to leave. Not yet.

"Do you have a quill?" he asked, throwing Hermione off.

"Er, yes, I have one. Hold on," she said before standing and walking into the living room. She brought back a muggle pen and a pad of paper.

"What is this?" Neville asked whilst turning the instrument he had never used before in his hand.

"A pen."

"Does it need ink?"

"The ink is inside," she said, suppressing a desire to laugh.

"That…is ingenious," he breathed, pressing the pen down on the pad of paper and drawing a doodle.

"What do you need it for?"

"I want to show you what the minister showed me," he said, turning to the next blank page. He immediately drew a five-pointed star, a pentagram.


	15. Chapter 15: News

"The pentagram was the 14th century symbol of the 5 wounds of Christ," Neville Longbottom explained. "Christ is the ultimate symbol of love in Christianity. Later on, in the 15th and 16th century, the pentagram took on a circle connecting all 5 points and became a symbol for the pagan religion of Wicca."

Hermione nodded, her brows stitched together as she tried to mentally piece together what this history lesson was supposed to mean. She sat across next to him at the table.

"Now symbols, sometimes are just symbols, but when we give a symbol power, it becomes a talisman," he continued. She watched as Neville calmly extended his hand out to meet the hovering wand that crossed the threshold over from the coat rack near the front door. He took the instrument swiftly in his hand and waved it once over the image of the star.

At once, the notepad lines melted away and the paper changed into the map of the United Kingdom. The image was animated with glistening waters and waving banners depicting the names of major cities and the individual countries. The pentagram hovered above the map as if it was a physical entity.

"Minister Shacklebolt told us that the Auror Department of Ireland and Scotland reported similar muggle deaths that we've been having," Neville explained, pointing to Belfast and Glasgow on the map.

Hermione's eyes followed the tips of the pentagram and she noticed that the shape connected different locations including Belfast, Glasgow, and small neighborhoods in and around London.

"Are you telling me that this pentagram tells us where the muggle deaths are occurring?" she asked, her expression showing her newfound understanding.

"Shacklebolt and Greene sure think so," Neville stated with a grimace spreading across his face. He turned to look at the neon digital clock on the muggle oven. "I'm afraid I have to go."

She grabbed his shoulder as he pushed back the kitchen chair to leave.

"Neville, please," she muttered, "Is there _anything_ you can tell me about Harry?"

The auror's hazel eyes tightened under his brow as he hesitated. She looked so worried.

"Harry was sent to round up the Glasgow Rebels in Scotland. He was assigned to a partner but refused it, confident that he could manage a group of teenagers alone. So naturally, Greene was not really pleased but let him go anyway. She thinks he was kidnapped, and seeing as the rebel activity went down significantly after his disappearance, Greene thinks that they are responsible but there is no clue as to where they're hiding out."

"What do they want from him? Money?"

"We're not sure, but Shacklebolt and Greene are exploring the possibility that the muggle killings and Harry's kidnapping were perpetrated by the same people."

Hermione nodded, staring at the pattern of the kitchen floor intently, biting her lower lip. She was frowning. Neville placed a hand on her knee, snapping her out of her tortured thoughts.

"We'll find him, Hermione. I promise," he said gently.

At that moment, Ron popped into the kitchen with briefcase in hand. He wore a dark maroon colored robe with a gold feather emblem on his chest. He looked red in the face, stressed.

"Neville," he greeted, eyeing the man in his kitchen with a hand on his wife's knee. The auror stood up quickly, reaching out to shake Ron's hand with a smile.

"Hello Ron, I'm glad I got to see you before I left," he said.

"Uhh, yeah. What's going on?"

"Ron," Hermione snapped at his rudeness. Neville retracted his hand awkwardly; his smile fell. He cleared his throat.

"I just dropped in for a visit," he said, forcing a carefree demeanor. "I'm unfortunately late for a meeting." Neville smiled Hermione, nodding once at her before going to the front door, putting on his robe and spinning into himself in the living room. He was gone with a "pop".


End file.
